Missing In Action
by de-anon
Summary: When Alfred F. Jones, personification of America, goes missing, it's up to Arthur, Francis, and Matthew to find him. USUK Involves characters from White Collar, but not enough to constitute as a crossover overall, especially in later chapters.
1. Missing

**Hello~ Please enjoy. Next chapter involves France, England, and Canada. 3**

**Ps. White Collar belongs to USA Network and is involved in his fic, but knowledge of the show isn't necessary as this is predominantly hetalia. I just wanted fun characters for the FBI agents, and we all understand what the FBI is, right?**

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><p>"Here, the case file on Alfred F. Jones." Agent Peter Burke slid the worn manila folder across the table toward his partner. "Read up."<p>

Neal Caffrey, the younger of the two, accepted it, peering down from behind sunglasses even in the darkened room. The two agents sat across from each other at a small table in a glass walled office. The hallways and adjacent offices where agents in pencils skirts and suits had been walking earlier were now dead silent—empty-the lights off save for the dim glow of sleeping computers and bland screensavers.

The first thing Caffrey noticed about this folder was the sheer bulk of it. Too many papers had been crammed in and the folder itself had to be reinforced at the bottom with duct tape. He was sure to lay it open as carefully as possible then to separate paper-clipped documents and files into an arc across the table. He shot Peter Burke a smile and ran fingers through thick brown hair, eyes twinkling. "FBI's got a lot of stuff on this guy, huh. Who is he?"

"Only says Alfred F. Jones. He went missing as of two days ago. Supposedly some kid from DC who worked for the President, but something isn't quite right. Kid's got more files than most of the agents here at FBI combined. You wouldn't believe the number of forms I had to fill out just to get access to this one file." Burke just sighed, corner of his mouth twitching into a bemused smirk. He loosened his tie and let his partner wade through the information while he dug chopsticks through a nearly empty cartoon of orange chicken. He was weary from a long day in the office, and the nature of his work showed in the lines of his face. He was one of the best, seasoned through years of police and FBI work, and he was the only one who could keep ex-criminal-turned-FBI consultant Neal Caffrey in line.

"How old _is_ he?" Caffrey held up a yellowed document, soft and torn with age. It brought to mind documents like the constitution and declaration for independence that had to be kept under special conditions to stay intact. He could not quite decode the bronzed, cursive writing. "Because something tells me this isn't counterfeit." Caffrey had counterfeited something similar and it had not been this convincing. He had the eye of an expert from years of practice. He could tell if he was being tricked and he could trick the best of them.

"According to all this…older than this nation, and that's where it gets weird," Burke replied. He rifled through the information until he found a document dated 1908 and signed by Teddy Roosevelt. "This." He shoved it toward his partner who had to lean close and squint to make out the faded type.

"Alfred F. Jones, personification of the United States of Ameri—"

"Put the files aside, boys, past information won't help us. This is a matter of urgent national security." The FBI director had slipped into the room and was already in the process of scooping up the papers and arranging them carefully back into the file. "I know everything you'll need to know about this Alfred F. Jones, but you must realize the sensitive nature of this information. If so much as one syllable of this gets out to anyone, the President will have all three our asses. As of now, we and a small team in DC area are the only ones trusted with this information."

Caffrey whistled and picked up his fedora, settling it on his head as he straightened. "High profile guy, got more files than I did in my time and is so restricted that no one knows his name. And I thought _I_was good…"

"Caffrey." The warning tone in Burke's voice told his charge to shut up.

"Anyway," The FBI director continued, sitting down and also leaning forward, his eyes very intense, his expression very grave. "Alfred F. Jones has gone missing recently. The last he was seen was by the President following a short meeting in his New York suite arrangements. This was after the press conference and the first round of Presidential debates."

Another whistle from Caffrey. "Personal meetings with the President?"

The Director ignored him. "We don't know if he was taken or by who or if he just walked away. Either option doesn't bode well for our country, especially if his captor knows who he is."

"And just who is he," Burke asked. His brows knitted together, and something told him that this was going to be a very difficult night and couple of weeks. He wondered how he'd tell his wife that he wouldn't be home for a long time. "I mean, what exactly is a personification…?"

"He is America."

Both Caffrey and Burke drew in a sharp breath then stared at each other, equally puzzled. Caffrey had stopped fiddling with his hat. He half expected the Director to start laughing and admit that this was some sort of joke. The young agent drummed his fingers against the table, trying to break the heavy silence.

"You heard me right, boys." The director leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking a lot older, more weary. "He is _the_ United States of America. The embodiment of the nation, the people, the government, the economy, and the land itself all packaged neatly into a 19 year old boy." He drew the most recent picture of Alfred from the file and pushed it toward the two partners.

Caffrey picked it up and scrutinized it. Eyes as bright and blue as the sky gleamed up at him, laughter hidden somewhere in their depths, intertwined with a sort of wisdom wrapped up with strange innocence. He wore simple glasses that added maturity to his face; his whole well-formed jaw was framed with blonde bangs parted to the side where one stubborn cowlick refused to conform. There was something about this guy—Alfred—that had Caffrey's mind reeling, as if he was struggling to remember a word that was on the tip of his tongue. There was something undeniably familiar about him, though he swore he'd never seen him in his life. "Really is just a kid…"

"Indeed," Burke said, back to business. He tapped it back onto the table after his turn. "So he's disappeared. What's the time frame? And how many people _do_ know about this…uh…America personification?" He'd begun to rub his temples, a sure sign that this was all proving a bit much. Caffrey made a mental note to ask him about the tinges of grey he spotted, but when the mood wasn't so grave.

"I learned about this kid the day I took position as director. As far as I know, only the President, his cabinet, and his family know of his existence."

"What about the leaders of other countries? Surely there are other…personifications, right," Burke continued. "I mean, like England and China and Germany. Do those countries have something similar?"

"They do. I know for a fact that the Canada and the England personifications have been to the White House. It seemed like Alfred would have been close to those two, considering the amount of meetings between diplomats."

"Wait," Caffrey interjected. "So the Special Relationship between England and Americ—"

"Irrelevant to this case," Burke hissed, though his cheeks grew red. "A-anyway, what I was trying to get at is that these other countries know about him, which means the prime ministers and possibly the public of other countries know of these personifications. It wouldn't be a far leap for any of them to assume that America has one as well and that it happens to be Alfred F. Jones."

The Director nodded. "So you're saying this is most likely to be an international issue rather than someone who just knew Alfred was connected to the President in some way." He mulled this over, lips pursed. "I was thinking something along the lines as well. Though, it's been three days—"

"There would have been a demand for ransom by now," Caffrey said. "A note or some sort of communication—at least if this is only about money. Most could assume that the United States would pay out the nose to get this guy back, though that might just be my own assumption." He picked his fedora back off his head and smoothed his hair from underneath it.

"That would be ideal, but we've heard nothing from anyone, not even threats," The Director answered. He allowed himself a sigh then glanced at his watch.

Burke's eyes flashed with grave darkness. "How much does Alfred know about the inner workings of the government? Our secrets? Our plans? It's possible that who ever took him wants information and will either try to torture it out of him or exchange him for whatever they can get out of us."

"I'm not sure how much he knows. I was talking to the President on the phone earlier and he told me that Alfred's role is more symbolic than anything. He's not terribly involved in any of the three branches of government or any of our decisions, or at least not anymore."

"Anymore?" Caffrey wondered. He scanned the weary faces of both Burke and the Director with a small sigh. His eyes flitted to one of the windows—bulletproof—that revealed only a patch of night out over New York City where stars no longer gleamed for the overpowering lights of the city, of human progress. "Is it…possible that he just walked away?"

"What?" Burke's brows knitted further. He propped his chin on interlaced fingers, elbows against the table.

"Impossible," The Director said. "That would be like the President or the land this nation rests on walking away."

Caffrey shrugged, suddenly lost in thought. He stroked at his chin and leaned forward. "I was just thinking that if I were the United States of America, I would want my role to be more than purely symbolic, is all. It's not an appointed title-it's who he is, if any of this is to be believed. I would think being reduced to a symbol is a bit demeaning. Just imagine the things this kid has seen and done!"

"Caffrey," Burke said, "While it's a possibility, we don't have much a basis for it. Let's get back to the facts. We need to figure out the moment he was last seen, who might possibly know of him, and his patterns from the past few weeks. We should also get someone in on searching the Presidential suite and track his cell phone conversations. With any luck he's still somewhere in New York."

The Director nodded. "You can pick a team tomorrow. Keep them in the dark on who he is, just tell them to find him."

"Right." Burke agreed.


	2. On the case

**Chapter 2~ Yeah, fairly quick update. Don't get too used to that though. I have finals coming up. I hope to fall into a "update every Saturday" type routine though. (: Ch 3 is already written, I just need to edit heavily and add in a few chunks to one of the scenes.**

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><p>"What do you mean he's missing?" Arthur Kirkland paced his study, cell phone cupped to his ear to capture the quiet ramblings of Alfred's brother Matthew. Thick carpet softened heavy steps, and the peaceful quiet of old books from towering book shelves and the warmth of tea evaporated. It was unnaturally early in the morning, but then again Arthur was an early riser, prone to wandering around his house when he could not stay asleep.<p>

Matthew's voice came to him as if a whisper. "I mean, I went to see him. He was supposed to be back from the campaign tour yesterday and I wanted to see how he was faring. His boss was there and demanded me to tell him where Alfred had gone. Threatened to send troops into Canada to find him though I insisted that I had no idea where he was."

"That's absurd." The Briton exclaimed loudly.

"I tried to call him," Matthew continued. "Alfred, I mean. He didn't pick up. Phone went straight to message…I don't think he has it with him. He never turns that thing off."

Arthur plopped down into his simple wooden chair and hunched over his desk, jarring the surface and nearly knocking over his tea. He watched the choppy liquid settle back down, only a bit seeping over the edge to be collected in the saucer. "Well he's not in London." He glanced out the window as if confirming this fact. "Do you know how long he's been missing? Did the President give you any other information?"

The Canadian let out a sigh. "Erm, no. Told me to get the hell out when I asked…I walked out and waited for a bit and overheard a phone call. I think he was talking to that FBI entity and he mentioned something about America's enemies in the Middle East. I heard something about it being five or six days since they'd last seen Alfred. Then I ran away because I heard someone coming down the hall in my direction." He sighed. "I just want to know where my brother is."

Considerable brows scrunched over perplexed green eyes as Arthur shoved himself upright and hastily grabbed a scrap of paper. He started to scrawl out a note to his boss. "Matthew. Where are you now?"

"Still in Washington DC. I got a hotel."

"I doubt he's there. Where was he last, New York? Let's meet there then, shall we? I'd rather not talk to his boss anyway. Always thought the man was a prick, even if he's turned America around in the past few years. So it's settled then? New York? I'll catch the next available flight." England snapped the phone shut before Canada could contest his decision. "Right." He rubbed at his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a sudden headache. Such efforts brought no luck, but he trundled off toward his bedroom to shed his bathrobe and kick fuzzy green slippers into his closet. He dressed in a simple button down and some comfortable slacks. He returned to his office to pour the rest of his tea into a little thermos and to take a heavy sip.

Then Arthur pulled his phone out again and dialed his own boss. "Prime Minister? I apologize, but I won't be able to meet you today for lunch. Y-yes, I know it's early in the morning. O-oh, sorry for waking you. I have urgent business in America I must attend to. Do you think you could arrange a flight for me in a private jet? Er, excellent. Thank you."

Another sigh followed by a huge yawn and another slurp of tea. He thumbed through his contacts once more and pressed the phone back to his ear. "Hello frogface. I'm surprised you're up this early."

"Well, it seems like you intended on waking me. Sorry for having disappointed you, Angleterre." The Frenchmen rolled over, still in bed, phone pressed to his ear with one hand while the other threaded through his bedmate's hair. "What's going on that warrants a phone call this early in the morning, mon ami?"

"Pack your bags. We're meeting Canada in New York to figure out where Alfred went."

"Went? How do you mean?" France had moved to caressing his bedmate's cheek til the Spaniard opened groggy eyes and lifted a tousled head.

"Francis…? Who is calling…?"

"That eyebrow bastard," Arthur heard Francis say over the line. "Go back to sleep." He heard some grumbled response then the slow shift of covers and sloppy kissing punctuated by moans.

"The HELL?" Arthur screamed. "Francis, focus you bloody frog! So help me I'll—"

Francis broke the kiss and Antonio sank back into the covers, pacified. "Alright, Angleterre, what is it?" Francis spoke as if nothing had happened, though he chuckled at the outraged sputtering coming from the Briton.

"Francis Bonnefoy I'll rip your bloody tongue out." A sigh. "Right. Just listen. Alfred is missing. I've no clue why, but Matthew was accused of bloody kidnapping him, which means it's a possibility that the government and whatever investigative entities are considering, especially in light of the ongoing conflict in the Middle East. If there's another country slinking about New York, we'll be able to sense their presence and find them. Maybe such a plan will lead us to Alfred or someone who knows where he is."

"Oui, makes sense. Alright, I'm coming then." Francis replied. He glanced back down at Antonio. "But Angleterre? You owe me."

"New York City…" Arthur said. He, Francis, and Matthew spilled out of the plane sometime in the midafternoon, blinded by the bright sun after hours of being tucked away in simulated darkness so long.

"So, where to?" Matthew asked.

Arthur shrugged. "I thought that we'd figure that out once we were in New York." He allowed himself a small sigh, scanning over the car-clogged streets. "Though how we'll get anywhere in this mess might be the real challenge."

"Well," Francis started. "Let's hail a cab. We'll have plenty of time to discuss things on the ride over to the hotel that Amerique was staying in."

"Sounds like a plan." Arthur said. He reached his thumb out, oddly reminded of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, and ushered the other two into the cab. It was a tight squeeze; the three sat practically on top of each other in the back, Francis crammed into the middle. Arthur gave their destination to the cabdriver and wrinkled his nose at the smell inside. His foot kicked at abandoned burger wrappers that someone else had left.

"Right." France murmured. His eyes darted to the driver then back to Arthur.

"Don't worry." Arthur said. He switched momentarily to French, his accent clumsy over syllables that he found distasteful. "Our words will mean nothing to him, and I refuse to converse in this frog language anyway." He switched back to English with a slight sigh, suddenly distracted by the glint of buildings and the smog rising from the stream of cars around them. "If someone did take Alfred, then what are the chances that he's still in New York?"

Francis shrugged. "Slim."

"O-our dog." Matthew suddenly piped up to the cab driver who just waved his hand in disregard, uninterested.

Raising his brow, Arthur shook his head, bemused. "Right. So our dog. The nappers may have taken him elsewhere by now. I wonder if the authorities have received any sort of note. A ransom."

"Valuable dog. Pure Bred." Matthew felt the need to explain. Again, disinterest.

"A mutt actually." Arthur muttered.

"That aside," Francis started, "what if your dog just wandered off. You mistreat a dog or starve it long enough it'll eventually slink away at the first open door."

"Al—the dog wasn't mistreated. And dogs are loyal. They'll stand by their o-owners no matter what. Plus, he was practically gushing about how the conflict at the bases overseas was ending and how the economy here was turning around!" Arthur sighed and stared out the window once more. The car rolled through an intersection, cutting off a swarm of people waiting to cross.

"A-articulate dog…?" Matthew tried. He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I give up." He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes.

"So where do we start?" Francis asked.

"The hotel." Arthur said.

"And if we're stopped and questioned by his police?"

"They've no reason to suspect us of anything."

"Oh come on, Angleterre, your eyebrows are a dead giveaway to who you are. You remember what Canada said happened when he came to visit. They'd take you in and torture you until you told them where Alfred was without even stopping to look for proof. Maybe they'll even shave those caterpillars from your face."

"This is no time for bloody jokes." Arthur huffed.

"It wasn't a joke."

Matthew lifted his head only to shoot the pair a heavy glare. This was going to be one long ride.

Indeed the two did bicker back and forth in varying combinations of English and French until even the cab driver heaved a heavy sigh. Matthew, as used to this as he was, merely ignored the two, jamming his fingers into overwhelmed ears and willing himself to fade into invisibility as he was prone to do.

Matthew tried focusing on the people and buildings they inched past, fascinated for a moment by a woman with an absurdly large red handbag and purple heels who bustled into Chinatown. It was then that he felt a strange flicker deep in his chest.

"Wait. Guys. Stop." He pleaded.

The two continued to argue, getting elaborate with their insults, seeming like they'd likely come to blows soon. Arthur's hands seemed all too eager to wrap around Francis's neck.

"GUYS." Matthew's voice reached a level even he thought impossible. "S-stop the cab, Mr. Cab Driver."

The car ground to a sudden halt. Both Francis and Arthur stopped mid-argument. "What's going on?" they demanded.

"This is where we get off." Matthew said. He threw the door open after thrusting a wad of USD into the man's hand. Only once the other two crawled out—Arthur shoving Francis when he took too long—did Matthew speak. "Guys. I sensed someone." The trio walked a fair distance from the cab, but even then the Canadian dared only a whisper. "I sensed someone like _us._

Arthur quickened the pace toward the mouth of Chinatown, passing through the ornate golden gates. "Alfred?"

"Hopefully." Matthew said.

The cabdriver merely sat idling in the curb, watching the trio of nations wander further down the street. With a sparkle in his eye he dug a phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, reaching into the seat beside him with his other hand to retrieve his fedora and set it on his head.


	3. Wild chase

**I don't even. xD Next chapter involves a bit of interrogation~ New chapter up hopefully by Friday of next week?**

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><p>"God, whoever it is has to be <em>somewhere<em> around here." Arthur stopped to rest in one of the shops where a couple of old men with cigars were playing checkers on a worn board amidst hundreds of cheap designer handbags.

Francis joined him, still working on a few eggrolls that he'd picked up. Steam rose out of one as he bit into it. He winced, fanning his mouth. "I get that sense too of someone around, but I have no idea who or where this person is. I doubt Amerique would be hanging around here though. Could be anyone just having a vacation in New York."

"Or someone suspicious." Arthur said. He stifled a yawn and pulled his coat closer in the chill of the morning. He swayed but grabbed a hold of one of the racks to steady himself.

"Angleterre. We should find a hotel somewhere. Maybe the one Amerique was in then we can investigate under the guise of staying—after you rest of course. You haven't slept since we left in the jet and that flight was long and tiring enough as it is."

"N-no! We've a whole city—h-hell, maybe an entire world to comb through to find Alfred! Don't you see, Francis, he could be in danger! Hell, if he isn't in danger and he just wandered off without telling anyone, he _will_ be in danger when I find him." The Briton set to wringing his hands, teeth gritted.

Francis sighed and reached forward a tentative hand to brush his fingertips against the dark bruises beneath his friend's eyes. "Angleterre…we don't even have a plan of action and we're useless as tired as we are."

Arthur pulled away. "D-don't touch me. We'll find whoever the hell is slinking about here then we'll think about resting."

Matthew sighed. He'd been hanging back, watching the two bicker, his own eyes bright and alert. He scanned the crowds for any suspicious activity. The flicker of the feeling stayed steady but did not increase no matter what direction he paced. "Who the hell could it even be…"

The Canadian's breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed a flash of black suits and men and sunglasses. He darted back into the shop and grabbed both Francis and Arthur by the arm, trying to pull the struggling nations into the furthermost corner behind a rack of purses. He counted to three, his urgency somehow shutting up his quarreling friends. The feds passed.

"Feds are here." He whispered to the two once he was sure they'd gone. "The same suited guys who interrogated me about where Alfred is." Another ten seconds dredged by. Only then did he poke his head out from between the racks and look either way. "Which means they had some sort of lead here, unless they've been tracking us."

Francis shrugged, his head popping out next to Matthew's. "Perhaps. But what are the chances that they're here for us and not for some other unrelated business. Even if it does concern Alfred."

Arthur's joined theirs. "Right. We can't act suspiciously. Let's just proceed normally, pretend to do some sightseeing and track down the suspect." He shoved the two from the purses and wandered down the street then pretended to be interested in a case full of ticking counterfeit gold watches, though his eyes flickered left and right, studying and memorizing the faces around him. He jumped at a gentle touch to his back.

"Calm down, Angleterre." Francis murmured, also pretending to look at the watches. "Due east a bit. Matthew swears the sense is stronger there."

"Right." The two walked side by side in that direction til they reached Matthew. He half nodded to them and continued on. The Canadian sucked in his breath as he spotted two feds from the corner of his eye and pushed the pace. They turned. One pointed.

"R-run." He whispered. "H-hide."

The three scattered. Arthur ducked beneath the linked arms of one couple, rolling onto the ground as he lost his footing but regaining it after dashing beneath someone's legs. They screamed, coats flaring up and starbucks coffee flying in an ark through the air though the Briton was long gone, hurtling over a pack of dogs and the lone woman walking them even as they nipped at his legs. The landing was harsh on his knees and he cursed but kept running, only chancing one backwards glance to confirm that he was being chased by several men with glasses.

"Dammit." He urged his legs faster though pain lanced through his body. His lungs grew heavy with the effort of keeping up with his hammering heart and aching arms and legs that demanded oxygen. His head spun but yet he ran. "Getting too bloody old for this."

A scream. A quick sidestep. Shouting agents. Parting crowds.

"Bloody he—omph." Arthur slammed into someone, nearly somersaulting over them as the two of them crashed to the ground. He rolled to his feet in a flurry of flailing limbs, too disoriented to do much more than stagger forward a step.

Then he looked up, ignoring the woman who had fallen in an explosion of shopping bags and tissue paper. He caught a flash of red silk and long brown hair caught in a ponytail and a knowing smirk as the person slipped gracefully into the crowd. "China." The Briton muttered, clambering to his feet. "The bloody hell is he doing here?"

More shouts. The agents were pushing through the crowd and Arthur forced himself into a run again, scanning with quick, darting eyes for more glimpses of red while weaving and stumbling through the crowd.

Arthur halted, lungs seizing. Spots danced in his vision. The crowd swirled around him. Panic churned his thoughts. "D-dammit." He gritted his teeth, willing himself to calm down and reminding himself just who he was, though heavy breaths clogged his words. "I'm the United bloody Kingdom. I'm a former pirate turned gentlemen. I won't lose this battle."

In the periphery of his vision, he saw the Chinese nation slip into a pottery shop. He took off toward it, throwing the doors open, and lunging for the Chinese man who was headed for a back exit. They skidded across the floor, huge pots wobbling ominously around them, and the whole of a shelf of smaller pots exploding around them with a great shattering roar when they cracked heads painfully against a shelf.

"What the hell, aru yo!" Wang Yao—China—clambered to his feet, rubbing at his head where a bruise was already forming. Blood seeped through his head where a shard of clay hit him directly. He winced. "Did I _say_ you could come within 100 feet of me, aru ka?"

"The _hell_ are you doing in New York? E-explain yourself! Where the hell is Alfred?" Arthur only sported minor cuts and scrapes. He wiped a thread of blood from his eyes as he shoved himself to his feet and cut off Yao's route to the door. Pottery crunched beneath his feet. Somewhere in the distance a man screamed angry Chinese.

The petite Asian shook his head, both brows on a finely sculpted face shooting up. "Alfred? You mean America? Are you accusing me of something here, England, aru ka?"

"Yes, I'm accusing you of something. Now where is he?"

A knowing smile emerged on Yao's lips, but he shook his head. "I don't know, aru. And even if I did, I probably wouldn't tell you. Even if you managed to magic those atrocious English eyebrows off Hong Kong's face, I still wouldn't tell you, aru."

"This is no time to hold a bloody grudge!"

The bite of the cold barrel of a gun to his temple sent a shudder ripping down Arthur's spine. He stiffened as strong arms yanked him into a head lock. "Make this easy on yourself, eyebrows, and don't move."

Yao rolled his eyes, traces of a smirk tinging the edges of his lips as he turned to leave, slipping through the back exit. "Good luck, England, aru." He mouthed with an amused chuckle.

"E-eyebrows? The hell, all you Americans are the same with your uncreative insults." The Briton gritted his teeth, struggling to stay upright under the pressure around his neck. "Unhand me now. You've no reason to even touch me." He struggled even as the men dragged him into a nearby black car and threw him in. He lunged for the door, finding that they were locked from the inside, then lunged for the wire grating separating the front from the back seats. "LET ME OUT OR SO HELP ME I'LL—"

The man in the passenger seat turned, slipping the fedora from his head. "Cool your jets, man. We just have a few questions for you concerning your missing…dog." His eyes twinkled.

A second man slipped into the driver's seat. "Caffrey, not until we reach headquarters."

"You've no right to take me anywhere, dammit! Don't make me get the Queen involved! I have diplomatic immunity in your bloody country!"

"Oh trust me, the Queen is already involved." Agent Burke said. He slammed on the gas. "Our President has been in contact with your government. How did you think we knew to find you at the airport. Now tell us, just what were you doing in Chinatown?"

"Like hell do I have to tell you. Maybe I was just on holiday!"

"An urgent holiday involving an immediate jet?" Caffrey asked. "As nice as that sounds, that's probably unlikely."

Burke shot Caffrey a look. "Let me do the talking." He turned left at the light. "Right. Just sit tight and we'll get to headquarters where we can try to get on the same page here."

"Same page my arse!"

Neither agent bothered to answer and he spent the remainder of the ride scowling darkly out the window as he tried to force his arms from behind his back so that he could reach and dial Francis on the phone.


	4. Interrogation

**Sorry for the delay. Finishing up finals and getting home from college was a challenge in itself. This…was an odd scene for me because it's so different from what I normally write. This whole fic is full of firsts for me, actually. Hehheh. Doing my best.**

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><p>"I've nothing to tell you," Arthur spat as Peter hauled him from the car.<p>

"You'd be surprised," Burke said. He stepped aside for four or five agents that spilled from the door of the tower building and flanked them-some sort of entourage guard in case Arthur decided to make a run for it. But the Briton, in true gentleman fashion, walked calmly, lips clamped, but eyes flashing when he was jostled for not moving quickly enough. He kept his pace, gaze flickering side to side, studying his environment and the faces of his 'captors'.

He'd teach these fools to mess with the United Kingdom. One way or another. But for now, he decided, he'd try to see just what the so-called FBI knew about Alfred's disappearance.

And thus he walked head held high through the doors of the building, past security, and down an escalator into one of the interrogation rooms. The dim room was empty, save for a dull, metal table and a huge mirror that Arthur was sure sheltered a room full of onlookers and recording equipment. A flickering light overhead hurt his eyes. "Release me from this imprisonment. I went willingly. Do you even know who you're dealing with, here?" Arthur struggled against his handcuffs til the metal chaffed at already sore wrists. He soon gave up, the cuffs tinkling as the chain went slack.

Peter closed the door carefully behind him and set down a cup of tea in front of the scowling nation. "Trust me, I've been given a quick rundown about you and your position. And I realize you're upset, but we're dealing with a national crisis here, and apparently you know something we don't."

"How am I supposed to drink your stupid American rubbish if I don't have use of my arms?" Arthur demanded. He rocked against the table, trying to spill the tea, but it only sloshed dangerously over the rim and into the saucer. "I'm not going to lap it up like a dog if that's what you're fantasizing about. Bloody American."

The agent sighed and walked to him. The other braced himself for some sort of retribution, but Burke merely slipped the key into the lock and removed the cuffs. "Drink your tea and be civil."

Rubbing at swollen wrists, the Briton continued to glower. "Who's to say that it isn't spiked with something that'll have me spilling all of my country's secrets?" He narrowed fierce green eyes at the agent who only seemed bemused.

"Well, the law. I'd rather keep my badge, as interesting as such a notion sounds. And the countries of America and England are allies in case you haven't noticed." Burke sighed. This was not what he'd pictured when he had been told to pick up the Personification of England. For one, he'd hoped that he'd be more reasonable and polite. Wasn't England supposed to be full of gentlemen?

"Trust me, I've noticed." Arthur said. He picked up the tea and took a cautious sip. "Tastes like rubbish."

"Yeah, but what can you do." Burke dropped the file onto the table and drew out a picture of Alfred. "Alright. This is the personification of Amer—"

"Alfred. His name is Alfred." Arthur said through gritted teeth. "He's a person, you know."

"I'm aware." Burke said. "I was hoping if you could tell me exactly what had you rushing over here. We hadn't released any information to anyone about Alfred's disappearance so it's suspicious that you knew anything about i—"

The chair fell backwards with a loud crash as the nation thrust himself to his feet and slammed his fists onto the table. "Are you accusing me of hurting Alfred? God be my witness, I'll wring your neck if you ever consider such a notion again. I'd never so much as harm that bloody git no matter how much he deserves it. I'm just as freaked out by this as the lot of you, only I actually care about the person not the bloody symbol." He stood, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly that his nails cut into his palms as he chided himself for losing control so easily.

"Maybe it is what I'm implying," Burke said. He remained ever calm, staring the Briton down, though his hand strayed to the gun at his hip. "Have a seat."

Heart racing as it was with sheer frustration, Arthur had a hard time forcing himself back down into the chair. He took several deep breaths and even took a rushed sip of the lukewarm tea to hide his difficulty at recomposing himself. "You acknowledged it yourself. England and America are allies." His voice was little more than a growl, but let both his hands drop to his lap beneath the table so he could pinch himself. "Why would I harm him? Tell me."

"Oh, I don't know," Peter sneered, "maybe what with this _war_ going on agains—"

"Yes, the war against a terrorist group who Alfr—America and I are allied together to fight."

Burke sank into his own chair and drummed his fingers across the table while the other hand remained on the gun. "But your prime minister has been constantly berating our President with demands to stop this war. Seems like all England wants to do is pull out as quickly as possible-which you can't do on good conscience unless America pulls its troops out first. You're losing men and money and supplies—"

"Over America's stupid pride and greed, but that's no bloody motiv—"

"But if you could obtain leverage to make the President reconsider heightening the conflict, would you do it?" Burke demanded.

"I—"

"Would you?" The agent narrowed his eyes.

"Hell no," Arthur said. His heart pounded and his head spun with the force of the accusation, but he shook his head and returned Burke's steely glare. "Your humans get too wrapped up in your own affairs. The countries have ties of loyalty that transcend your puny life spans and wars. Believe me when I say I had nothing to do with Alfred's disappearance and am more eager to find him that any human could be."

"Then you admit we're on the same page, England." Burke said. Finally, his hand slipped from his gun and he rested his chin on intertwined fingers without letting up the intensity of his gaze. "Which is why you need to tell us what you and your two…colleagues were doing in Chinatown on 'sudden business', then."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. I'll let you know right now that I don't have any information. I'm just as clueless as the rest of you. Now you'd do well to let me go. I know a lot more about Alfred than you do and I intend on finding him more quickly than any government agency can manage." Arthur bit his lip, mind flashing back to the glimpse of China in the marketplace. Sure it had been Chinatown, but what were the chances that China's presence and Alfred's disappearance were connected in some way?

"I see." Burke frowned but kept pressing, "How come your knowledge of Alfred led you to Chinatown then?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "Maybe you should leave nation matters in the hands of nations and bugger off. Moreover, you can't likely keep me here against my will. Release me immediately. It isn't like you can do anything anyway."

Burke stood. "We'll stay in touch with your Prime Minister. Don't think you've heard the last from us. And if you do learn anything, you'd be wise to talk to us before things get too out of hand. Again, America and England are allies, but he is technically _our_ personification over being your friend. Don't forget that." Without another word he led the Briton out of the interrogation room and to the front door. "Take care."

Arthur grunted and bustled out, immediately pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing a number.

Burke glanced over at Neal who had joined him by the doorway then murmured from the side of his mouth. "Tell Agent Smith to get some men on him and to not let him out of their sight. It's time we figure out what he's really up to."


End file.
